Desperately seeking dacoits - Part 2

“Come on Rat, you want to go to Bihar and so do I. I’m bored of temples and people searching for themselves. I’m really intrigued by the dacoit stories in the newspapers. I know you’re not adverse to a mission. Think of the pictures you could add to your collection”

The rest of the journey passed without incident, beyond the usual chaos of night-time station stops and screaming children. Our new friends, despite my initial fears turned out to be very hospitable. Their smiles were wide, and their hearts were open.

Ajay and Hippy openly admitted to being dacoits, seemingly without fear. In a strange way this gave us great comfort that they would do us no harm. They refused however to have their photos taken, which is a shame, because their moustaches alone were worth recording. They were very keen however, to show us their guns. Then how to strip them and how to clean them. All very important we reasoned if we were going to join a dacoit training camp.

Finally at Patna station, beneath the great banyan tree yesterday morning in the sprinkling of early morning sunshine, I stood gawping at what was, even by Indian standards, complete chaos.

Never mind the construction work on the new Hanuman temple, this place makes the main station in Dehli look like a model Swiss village. Like bees in a hive people appear to swarm over each other. Blue tarpaulin shelters cling to hand railings under which massed ranks of beggars and urchins plead for alms, as they desperately try to prevent limbs being severed by the constant flow of rickshaws pumping out their plumes of acrid black smoke.

There was only one thing for it. We moved our packs into the attack position, closed our eyes to the heat and the light and leapt into the melee. Putting your pack onto your front, and taking the crowd head on is the only way to get around in crowded stations. It has constantly proved an invaluable tool for getting off trains. Forget manners, that gets you nowhere. The railway station waits for no man and indiscriminate of age, gender or even disability it is very much every man for himself.

We headed for a taxi rank, to get a ride to Mokamma, a small town further down-stream on the banks of the Ganges. It seemed a little ironic to me that Mole deems it too dangerous to travel by train in Bihar, having just made friends with two self-proclaimed thugs on the train.

Hippy and Ajay explained that they are based near Mokamma. The police know but are either scared of confrontation, or are receiving a healthy baksheesh (bribe) for their generously blind eyes. Ajay has invited us to visit the base and they will join us in a couple of days.

Our journey hit a snag however, as we were unable to persuade a taxi driver to take us to Mokamma. More worryingly, none will offer up a reason as to why. So last night we decided to decamp to a local hotel, for the night and try our luck in the morning. The local bar proved a perfect haven, until, after too much Kingfisher Strong, our reconnaisance meeting became too exuberant for the upper echelons of local Patnari society. Given that on average there is one person kidnapped in Patna every hour we decided the best course of action was to head for the sanctity of our hotel and bed.

Despite the inevitably sore heads, Mole and I were up and out early this morning. We were starting to feel a bit glum about Patna, so we decided to have breakfast before doing anything else. We may have had to wait forty-five minutes for our Masala Dosa, but not only was it worth the wait, but this wonderful country, yet again, produced one of those priceless moments that reminds you not too take it all too seriously.

Having waited for thirty-five minutes for our food, with raging thirsts and thumping heads, our patience was beginning to wear a bit thin. Just then a cow nonchalantly wandered into the restaurant. Immediately the restaurant owner produced a huge plate of food. Thinking it was for us the saliva started to gather-a-pace, but instead of tucking into our long-awaited breakfast we stood aghast as the cow gulped down the lot.

At this point I lost my rag: "Excuse me, we've been waiting thirty-five minutes and the cow gets fed first. How does that work?!"

With a simple head wobble and calming hand gestures our host replied:

"I am sorry sir, but you have come to breakfast with us for first time, but the cow, he comes every day."

After breakfast Mole successfully found us a driver. I must hurry now to meet them. We have little time left to get to Mokamma before sun-down, and our driver Prakash refuses to be out on the road unless the sun is high in the sky. He says it is too dangerous because of the dacoits. I hope to be able to conclude this tale on our return to Patna.